


Open Heart

by MUSEquera



Category: Muse
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:20:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MUSEquera/pseuds/MUSEquera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harsh words are spoken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The thing is, I love him. More than anything in the world. He brings joy and laughter and delight into my life. He is the one constant in my life, my cornerstone and my anchor. His smile lights up my universe, and his laughter makes me feel invincible.

Don't get me wrong, it is not a one way street. I am the one he turns to during the bouts of deep anxiety that plague him from time to time, and I'm the only one who dares approach him when he's in one of his moods, soothe his ruffled feathers and bring a smile to his face.  
  
We complement one another in ways that are difficult to explain, even to myself. Every single day of my life I thank fate, or god, or whatever force of nature put him in my path. Without him I would be adrift, without me he would likely be insane, or smothered in his sleep with his own pillow by some unfortunate soul who was brave enough to take him on.

It's not easy, I'll admit. He's not the easiest person to love. It would be so easy to hate him... And sometimes I do.

He's unpredictable and quick to anger, and his rages are childlike, uncontrolled, malicious and spiteful. When he's like that, he's like a guided missile, homing in on my weak spots and taking an unholy delight in the hurt in my eyes.

It doesn't last, though; his quicksilver moods won't let him dwell on whatever set him off, and he's unable to carry a grudge for long. More often than not, as soon as he's vented his anger he's overtaken by shame and remorse, and I find myself comforting him as he clings to me, barely able to keep up with his tumbling, mumbled apologies.

Most of the time I let it go, I allow his words to wash over me, and ride the storms of his mercurial personality with good grace and an open heart.

Every now and then, though, he goes too far. He pushes my buttons once too often, or his cruel streak gets unleashed in the heat of an argument, and he says something so hurtful that I can feel my heart snap shut.

That's where things go badly wrong. Because where his cruelty is casual and thoughtless, mine, when aroused, is cool and calculated, savage and ruthless. When I do snap, sparks fly, and those around us wisely take cover. They know.

They know that when things get to this point neither of us will willingly back down, and the situation usually gets out of control very quickly. The gloves come off, and we pummel one another, physically and emotionally, until neither of us can stand on our feet.

Sometimes a brave soul gets between us and manages to break us up, but by then the damage is usually done. They say that no one can hurt you worse than those you love. We are the living embodiment of this.

After one of our shakedowns, we go away to lick our wounds in solitude, and stay out of one another's' way. Normally for a few hours or a couple of days, but sometimes it takes longer, much longer.

I do hold a grudge, you see. I cradle it to my heart and nourish it until it takes over and pushes away my love for him, and I spurn his peace offerings, ignoring his calls and increasingly frantic text messages.

At those times I truly hate him. And I hate myself, for allowing him to do this to me. And for always giving in and going back to him.

Because I always do. There've been a couple of times when it was touch and go, but the truth of the matter is, I cannot live without him. Or, rather, if I'm truthful, I do not want to live if he is not in my life.

So, yes, an open heart. Despite the fact that if you give him your heart he's likely to stomp on it occasionally, just because he can. You see, keeping an open heart is the only way to love him, even if it makes me vulnerable to his careless handling of it.

Because despite his oh, so many faults, he is like sunshine and an ocean breeze. When he's around, the tight band of pain around my chest loosens, and I can breathe easily. Being with him brings me the peace and solace I need.

He is sparing with words of love, but his beautiful eyes shine so bright with unconditional love when he looks at me that I need to look away.

Being the object of his love is like riding a comet, a maelstrom of fire and light, so hot and bright that it sometimes scares me with its intensity. He holds nothing back. He loves wholeheartedly, lives in the moment, feels with an immediacy that is both heartbreaking and nothing short of breathtaking.

He is the love of my life. My refuge. My other half. My everything.


	2. Chapter 2

"I hate you."

Just three words. They don't seem like much when you look at them, stark black on the snowy white of these pages. They sit there, deceptively innocuous, a black and white statement of fact.

Just words... Only when I said them to you they weren't just words, filled as they were with cold, calculated intent. They weren't a throwaway statement carelessly tossed into the middle of an argument to vent off built up anger and frustration. No. That's not the way with me.  
  
They fell from my lips with the finality of a gaol door slamming shut, chilling in their ruthless callousness, and a dark, perverted joy filled me when your laughter died and the light slowly leached from your eyes as the blow hit home.

Without a flicker of pity or regret, I turned on my heel and left, the vestige of those three words resonating like a taint in the air.

I just kept going, ignoring your broken voice whispering my name, wrapping the cold, bleak cloak of my anger around me like a shield; my heart a dark, hard lump of stone in my chest, impervious to your fervent pleas for forgiveness.

I shudder in shame at the fear and despair in your voice as I left you without a backward glance. May god forgive me, I glowed with unholy glee at the pain I had inflicted.

I drove home on a high, resolutely ignoring the constant buzz of my phone in my pocket, knowing it was you reaching out to me, laughing at the feeling of power that surged through me.

As I got home and started to wind down, my buzzing phone a counterpoint to my nightly routine, I had to steel my resolve against the chinks of self-doubt that started to creep in. Flashes of your crumpling face, eyes brimming with unshed tears, as I left you. Distorted echoes of the laughter I had killed so brutally. Frame by frame visions of the breathtaking light in your eyes dying away as I uttered those heartless words.

Somehow, I managed to stoke the cooling embers of my anger and, tossing the phone dismissively on the couch, I took myself to bed, riding the high horse of my bitter righteousness.

My dreams, however, mounted an insurgence, a guerrilla war of relentless sniper attacks, the best of you their ammunition. Sensitive hands that convey a world of tenderness you are unable to articulate with your words. Beautiful bright eyes that shine with every thought and emotion. Your childish delight in small, silly things. That ridiculous laughter that lights up the gloomiest day. Your kitten-like need for touch and affection. The way you give yourself, wholeheartedly, fully, without thought of consequences. The husky velvet of your voice...

I tossed and turned all night, your presence in my dreams a reproach and an accusation, and I woke up with a heavy head and a heavier heart, guilt a bitter taste at the back of my throat.

Lingering tendrils of anger licked at me halfheartedly, but I could no longer sustain the effort required to coax them back to life. With a half-exasperated sigh I gave in to the growing compulsion and made a beeline for my phone.

My heart took a dive as I swiped the lock and opened my messages. There were dozens of them, a painful, beseeching litany of apologies, growing more frantic and less coherent as the hours went by without a response, stopping abruptly at three in the morning when, I surmised with fresh guilt, exhaustion had overtaken you.

Any remains of the coldness that had gripped my heart the night before melted away at the thought of you, desolate and alone, curling up on your couch—our couch—hugging the phone to you as sleep overtook you, hoping for a reply that never came.

I glanced at the clock. Too early for you to be up at the best of times, but, overcome with remorse, I typed a message with unsteady fingers. Just as I was pressing 'send', I was startled by the 'ding' of an incoming message, followed hard up by a hesitant knock on my door.

Puzzled, I opened the message as I walked to the door, and I was stopped in my tracks when I saw the exact words I had just typed popping up on my screen: "I'm sorry. I love you." Like an idiot I stood in the middle of my living room, looking from the phone to the door and back again, slow comprehension seeping in.

Shaking myself into motion, I rushed to the door, throwing it wide open just as you were about to knock again, standing there motionless, looking up at me with wide eyes filled with both fear and hope.

My chest clenched painfully at the sight of you standing on my doorstep with your phone in one hand and the other poised to knock, your more than usually rumpled clothes, ridiculously endearing bed head and darkly shadowed eyes testament to your rough night.

I froze, tongue tied, not knowing where to start to apologise for my callousness, and as the seconds ticked by I could see fear overtake the hope in your eyes. Just as I was mentally berating myself for being a useless, worthless prick, and willing myself to do something, anything, your idiotic message tone sounded.

Out of habit, your eyes left mine to check the message, and I was stunned by the sudden change in you. Your eyes lit up, the stupid goofy grin that always makes my heart skip a beat blossoming on your face as you brought the bloody phone to your lips and kissed it with fervour.

Before I had time to process or question your behaviour, you had launched yourself at me, holding on as though you were never letting go, muttering incoherently into my chest. Instinct took over, and my arms closed around you, my lips glorying in the softness of your hair, your warm scent making my head spin.

Eventually, with a long sigh, you let go of the death grip you had on me, your body melting against mine, and I steered us both towards the couch. "I'm sorry." I whispered into your hair once we were sitting down, with you curled tight against me.

You looked up at me then, and my breath caught in my throat. "I know," you said with a soft smile, "you already told me." Your smile grew into your trademark twatty grin at my puzzled look as you handed me your phone. I looked at the screen, and I could feel the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile as I saw my text message on it. "Excellent timing." I muttered, setting off a fit of giggles.

"Hang on..." I said as a though struck me. "What were you doing on my doorstep at this ungodly hour? I don't remember you ever being up this early without someone physically dragging you out of bed." You looked at me from under your lashes with a sheepish look on your face, "I slept there."

"You mean..." I could not go on. My words died in my throat at the thought you on the other side of my door, waiting, hoping that the next message would reach beyond those three words and bring me back to you. Hour after painful hour, never losing your faith in me, in us. Your apology and your love for me the first thing on your mind when you woke up.

Guilt and regret warred with the overwhelming wave of affection choking me up, and all I could do was hold you in my arms, swearing to myself that I would never let the sun set on my anger ever again.

Later, much, much later, as you lay next to me, your breath a soft warmth on my skin, you looked up at me, eyes soft and bright again, and gave me the greatest gift. Your fingers grazed my cheek tentatively, and your lips, brushing against mine, whispered those three words you had never been able to bring yourself to say aloud before:

"I love you."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are you?” I cry desperately as I cross this icy desolation. I cry your name until my throat is raw, but you do not answer. Shadows envelop me as I hopelessly search for you, unnatural shadows that have nothing to do with light, leaching strength and resolve from me wherever they touch.

Forsaken, drained, cold and afraid, I stumble to a stop with a muffled sob. "Where are you?" I cry weakly once more, hope dying with the fading echo of my voice. The memory of you is all that has kept me going, and even that is starting to wash away in the tide of despair crashing over me.  
  
The warmth of your skin, the silken golden glow of your hair, the moonlit brightness of your eyes, the strength of your arms around me, the rippling of your muscles as you play, the softness of your lips on mine, the feather touch of your breath on the back of my neck as you sleep, the glorious gift that is your smile, the words of love you whisper to me as you love me... I can no longer feel them as I once did.

I can't even remember your face.

I am empty. Empty of you. And now those words, the words I shoved into the darkest recesses of my soul because I was too afraid to deal with them, mock me in my emptiness. They are meaningless now, unuttered, a missed turn in the barren landscape of my life, because you are not here.

You are not here. The stark reality of your absence is like a physical blow, and I fold in on myself, a keening wail forcing its way out, a macabre parody of my singing voice.

I do not want to remember. I don't exactly know what it is that I've forgotten, but I do know that anything is better than remembering. I try to get up and run, continue my hopeless quest through the empty tundra, but my body refuses me. It is too late, though; those awful, nauseating, crippling moments float to the surface of my consciousness, and I wake up with a start.

Disoriented, I look around me as I struggle to sit up. An empty lobby, a closed door. Memories crash around me, and tears spring unbidden. Your words lacerate my soul once again, and I watch in fresh pain as you leave me without a backward glance.

Yes, I do remember now. My pitiful cries that failed to move you. My crumbling into a sobbing mess as I texted you, called you, messaged you for hours without a reply. The nightmarish drive, blurred by the tears that would not stop flowing. The painful indecision once I got here, losing my nerve and crying myself into a nightmare-ridden sleep on your doorstep.

I start banging my head against the doorframe in an effort to control the tears, chanting "Shut up, you pathetic little freak." to myself, but it is in vain, they keep coming, like an inexorable tide, welling in my eyes and rolling silently down my cheeks.

Eventually sounds of movement inside your place startle me out of the orgy of self pity and shut me up. You're awake! Frantically, I scrub at my wet cheeks in an effort to erase the tears, and search my pockets for my phone. It's now or never. I text you, my soul in every word, and then throw caution to the wind and stand to knock on your door.

As I stand up, holding the phone to my chest, I make myself a promise. If you open the door, if you forgive me and take me back, I will confront my fears. I will give you what I've denied you for too long.

Before I'm able to knock, though, the door opens wide, startling me, and there you are, looking like a vision of heaven in your favourite ratty tee, boxer shorts and the thick socks you wear around the house instead of slippers, and all I can do is stare at you hungrily, hopefully, fearfully.

I want to reach out and run my fingers through your hair. I want... I want you back. I want you to want me back. Afraid to move, afraid to speak, I stare at you beseechingly, trying to convey my need for you and your forgiveness.

As the seconds tick by without you making a move to let me in, though, I start to crumble inside. Just as I am about to turn tail and run, because I'll be damned if I'll let you see me cry if you are going to turn me away, the unmistakeable tones of Lady Gaga's 'Marry the Night' emanate from my phone.

Now, you know that I'm unable to ignore a ringing phone, and, true to type, my eyes slide off yours to look at the screen. And there, in black and white, are the words I'd texted you a few seconds ago. I stare at them, confused. Did I just text myself? Wouldn't be the first time. No, there's your name, in the sender's box.

Confusion gives way to joy, and I kiss the screen the way I want to kiss you, but I still dare not. But then I think, 'You opened the door. You replied.' Something goes off in my brain, and suddenly I am wrapped around you, holding on to you for dear life, trying to dispel the pain of the last few hours, the terror of my nightmare.

And you bring your arms around me, so I cling even tighter, mumbling "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you..." into your chest as you softly kiss my hair. I know you can't hear me, but once the plug comes off I don't seem to be able to stop.

Later that morning, slowly, oh, so exquisitely slowly, we wash ourselves clean of guilt and shame and regret, our mingled sweat and spit and sperm our absolution. And this deliverance replaces the empty spaces of my nightmare with fresh memories of you, crisp and new and untarnished.

My body, my heart, my soul are, once again, abrim with you, and I sigh in contented relief as I rest my head on your shoulder. Everything is as it should be.

Just as I am about to fall asleep, though, I remember my promise. Still lost in the newness of you, I look into the warmth of your eyes, smiling in wonder while I gently explore your face with my fingers. Slowly, softly, I graze your kiss-swollen lips with mine, whispering "I love you." and the way you look at me, with joy and wonder and delight, becomes my own personal absolution.


End file.
